


ashes to ashes

by gizamalukesgrotto



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/M, Gang Rape, Incest, Lolicon, M/M, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Rape, Shotacon, Vaginal Sex, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24975244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizamalukesgrotto/pseuds/gizamalukesgrotto
Summary: Zuko has a secret he needs to get off his chest, only no one to share it with... save for Azula - his last resort, his only resort.Desperate, Zuko comes to her like a moth to flame.Well, you know how that usually goes for the moth...
Relationships: Azula/Ozai (Avatar), Azula/Zuko (Avatar), Ozai/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 129





	ashes to ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [padmepetrichor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/padmepetrichor/gifts).



> Shota and loli and rape, oh my! In which Ozai grooms and rapes his children, then Azula rapes Zuko. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT/AS IT SAYS ON THE TIN. 
> 
> This was a custom piece done for someone who contacted me on my [carrd](https://nethicitewrites.carrd.co/) . If you'd like me to create custom NSFW fiction for you, I am fandom and OC friendly. You can get in touch at the carrd. I take limited assignments per month!

Four years ago, it began.

“Father,” Zuko softly padded into Ozai’s war quarters one day and asked, “Father, what can I do to win your favor?”

Ozai sat on his great chair, the picture perfect Fire Lord that Zuko always imagined him to be. Powerful. Beautiful. Feared. 

“Is my blessing all you wish for?” Ozai asked after some time of staring down at his son. Backlit by the flames ever-burning behind him, Ozai looked like a god, and as far as Zuko was concerned, he was. 

“Yes, oh, yes father. I only want to make you proud.”

Ozai hummed. The fires behind him burned brighter, until all Zuko could make out was his silhouette. But he heard the smile in Ozai’s voice as he spoke next.

“Very well, Zuko. I will give you one chance. Come here.” 

Thrilled to even have this opportunity to be one-on-one with his father, Zuko complied eagerly. ‘Don’t mess this up,’ he thought to himself. ‘Do not ruin this. You ruin everything, Zuko.’

“What next, father?”

“Get on my lap, Zuko.”

It was a strange request if he ever heard one, but Zuko was not about to squander his only chance at redemption now. He obeyed, scrambling up his father’s leg to straddle his waist. It felt odd. He felt too old for this, and shifted left and right on Ozai’s thighs until he fit just right. 

“Like this?”

“Just like that.”

Simple enough, and yet… It was the most encouraging thing Ozai has said to him in years. To be praised simply by getting on his lap, when he had tried so many ways, so many painful, painful ways to get Ozai to so much as look at him? This was all it took? Zuko couldn’t help the smile on his face when he brought his chin up to meet his father’s gaze. He didn’t want to stop.

So when Ozai’s mouth covered the small bow of Zuko’s lips and pried them open with a searing hot tongue, Zuko complied, if only in a quiet shock. That shock gave way to elation. In but a single moment, Zuko felt **adored** . A kiss is what one gives to someone they love. Did this mean he was loved? Could Zuko be enough? He wanted so badly to be enough.

He knew nothing of kissing, but let his father have his way, jaw slack in obedience as Ozai dipped his tongue as if almost to test his only son. Ozai’s tongue was broad and rough, licking against his own until Zuko made a noise in his throat he had no control over. The sensations were all so new, and he felt so close to Ozai, he thought he might burst. 

Ozai broke from his son to kiss to one corner of his mouth. Then the other, and then it was over. 

Zuko felt dizzy on Ozai’s lap. Belatedly, he realized his father’s hands were already tight around him, skin to skin as Ozai eased through the folds of his robes with a seamless knowing.

As though they had been made for just this.

With a gentleness Zuko has never remembered ever feeling, Ozai unfolded the robes until the smooth, creamy skin of his shoulders blossomed from the sanguine linen. Ozai didn’t stop until the fabric pooled at Zuko’s waist, baring his torso to the flames. But it wasn’t the fire that made him hot, so much as the way his father gazed upon him like never before. 

“This is our secret,” Ozai whispered against his son’s lips. “Do you understand, Zuko? You will tell no one of this. You will come to me, in these robes, only when I summon you.” A rough hand sifted beneath the robes to pinch Zuko’s nipple, and he gasped. Only Ozai didn’t let go. He held on, and pressed his fingers harder until Zuko whined in pain.

“I ‘nderstand,” Zuko gasped, his little voice strained in the roar of the fires around him. 

“Good.” Zuko arched into Ozai's touch without meaning to, and without knowing why, he wanted more.

And so Zuko, miraculously enough, got it.

From thereon out, it was a perfect little ritual.

Ozai would summon him once or twice a week, deep in the evenings. Before each and every visit, Zuko would bathe with soaps and oils his father sent strictly to use for this and only this. It smelled of amber and creamy, honeyed lilac. Nothing like the smoke and teakwood of his Ozai's skin and robes; a scent that Zuko both aspired and obsessed over. But he bathed as told, dressed as told, and showed up to his father’s office as told, every time. 

It would start the same every night. Ozai would instruct Zuko to light the incense and candles around the room as he lounged on his chair, perfectly content to watch his naked son light the wicks with gentle firebending precision. It took control to use such little of Zuko’s power, a control Zuko wanted so badly to have and to prove. By the time he was done lighting everything in the room, he was always covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the sheer concentration of it. 

It made him pliable, at least. Not that he wasn’t eager. 

For the first few months, all Zuko did was suck his father’s cock. Ozai made sure to hone his son’s mouth to be the perfect hole for unwinding after a long day, and took great care in making sure Zuko was satisfactory. Sometimes, it took hours to get right, but his father remained hard and Zuko remained ever-determined to please him until his face was glazed with a fresh smattering of cum and his father grinned down at him and offered the two sweetest words Zuko could ever ask for:

“Good boy.”

After that, Zuko fell into an unexpected madness when he began to crave his father’s cock. The physical contact, the praise, everything about their trysts ignited young Zuko’s blood with fresh lust. He craved it when he was trying to practice his form for firebending. He craved it at night, alone in his bed with his cock in hand and the handle of the dagger Iroh gifted him in his mouth - if only to have something there in that emptiness. He craved it at the dinner table, amidst a sprawling array of fresh meats and breads, sharing his meal across the very man he was finally feeling adored by in a way he never dreamt of. He craved it during tea afterwards, where he sat next to Azula, who surely could not hold a candle to his secret. 

He felt smug, knowing he knew his father in this way. Knowing he alone was chosen for this. 

The world had its elements it called upon: Fire, Earth, Air, Water. These elements had its tiers of power, had a hierarchy even within those tiers, of those who would carry the beacons of their ancient power. He was always made to feel unfit for such an honor. If Zuko could not carry the flame, at the very least, he could warm the cock of its bearer. 

As for Azula, she could throw all the barbs she wanted at him - and she did, as always, only they stopped hurting as much. Azula may be a prodigy at firebending, but Zuko felt just as skilled at making his father cum. 

“You show promise,” Ozai said one night, after a rigorous session where Zuko could not remember ever having tasted anything but his father’s cock. His eyes fluttered shut as the fire lord’s softened member caressed a wet trail down his cheek, before patting it patronizingly. Ozai’s fat, sated cock even looked tempting in the firelight. Even after it was spent, Zuko wanted to hold it in his mouth. He was painfully hard himself, but Ozai paid it little mind. Wherever he did, though, Gods...it was heaven.

“We’ll take it from here.”

“Yes, father. Anything.”

Sucking cock turned to taking cock. When Zuko’s throat was thoroughly coated with his father’s cum, Ozai still wanted more, and knew how to get it. At that point, Zuko would do anything his father asked of him. If that meant taking his father’s cock up his ass at the tender age of twelve, then so be it. 

Turned out, he loved that too. It hurt, but daddy’s fingers up his ass found his budding prostate with little trouble and it never took long to unravel little Zuko until he was spread beneath his father and begging. It wasn’t unusual for Zuko to return to his nightly training with cum still sliding down his thigh like a badge of pride. 

And then, like everything, it burned to ashes. 

Zuko was thirteen, still full of hope, and secretly riding on the high of his secret with Ozai, when he spoke out against the war council.

And he paid for it, dearly. By Ozai’s hand did he beg for mercy; by Ozai’s hand did Zuko fall.

After that, it all changed.

Singed by his father’s hand, Zuko became shuttered. The bond he felt with his father fell to smoldering embers, and Zuko wanted so badly to reignite it. To be forgiven. To make his father cum again. 

But not like this.

Never like this.

The first time Ozai summoned Zuko to his quarters after the incident, Zuko did as told. He arrived, skin wrapped in oxblood linen and soft with honeyed lilac.

But when he stepped in, the doors latched behind him. From the floor rose a wall of fire, further sealing any escape. Zuko turned from the flames of the door to where his father stood, in front of a stone slab.

“Come here,” he said, echoing the words that first started this entire thing. Zuko felt paralyzed, face to face with the man he so sorely disappointed, so sorely betrayed. But this felt different. 

“Fath--”

“Now, Zuko!” His father shouted across the hall, commanding and angry. Zuko had no choice but to step forward, until his feet brought him to the stone slab. Upon it, this close, Zuko could see the map: a signed and sealed war plan to do exactly as the council had decided, exactly what Zuko implored against, exactly what gave him the blistering scar still throbbing behind gauze.

“Strip. And lay on it. I want to teach you a lesson.”

“Father, please--”

“I am not asking. Your defiance only begs consequence. Is that what you want?”

This entire thing felt like a consequence in itself, but Zuko said nothing on the matter.

His face still felt the pain of his father’s wrath, and it would for a long time. It was still bandaged from a week ago, gauze and gentle adhesive; the thickness of it kept Zuko shrouded in half-darkness. It would never heal, the doctors had said. He would never be the same again. And he knew in that moment, he and his father would suffer the same fate.

Ozai raped him upon the stone slab, upon the map of the Earth Kingdom, where Zuko bled and cried and begged. His efforts were met with abuse that shattered Zuko’s budding understanding of the world. He was not aware such pain could be felt, that his body could bare this much abuse.

Ozai’s burning touch drew sparks down Zuko’s back with his nails, singed his ass when Ozai’s palm beat it, and beat it, and beat it until Zuko could barely breathe. The room was hot, so hot, but it was nothing compared to the unwanted burning entrance of his father’s cock in his dry, tight hole, where Zuko begged and screamed again, writhing upon the war plan, signed and sealed with every hand he sought to stop that day.

But the horror did not end there. Far from it.

So lost in the pain and horror of his rape, Zuko barely noticed the shadows looming from the pillars glide around him until his eyes opened, and met the eyes of the war council surrounding him. Horror split him down the middle, and his breath came out in heaves.

“No--what--”

He hadn’t even noticed his father climaxed until Ozai pulled out like an afterthought, and his cum dripped from Zuko’s ass onto the map. 

“You will pay for what you’ve done to the council. Comrades, I offer you this as my sincerest token of forgiveness. Do as you please.”

“No! No father, please, anything but this!”

When Zuko tried to scream, tried to run, he was met with a collage of hands pinning him down, tearing off his robes, and violating every inch of his body. He lost count of the amount of cocks that emptied in his ass and down his throat that night, body and spirit broken against the war plan like shattered alabaster. 

The elders, despite their age, had no shortcomings in their stamina, and they did not stop until each had at least one turn at both of Zuko’s holes. At one point, horrifically, one of them took Zuko’s cock into his mouth, and when he came, hips stuttering, he wretched over the sound of their raspy laughter.

Thus began another two years of abuse unlike any Zuko would ever imagine. Ozai continued to summon Zuko to use, sometimes one-on-one, other times as his father watched a councilman rape him, stroking his cock and finishing off in Zuko’s cumslicked ass. And when he did fuck him...gods, it was so rough. Strength Zuko didn’t know Ozai had possessed his father, using it to hold Zuko’s young body like a fuck sleeve by his waist alone to drill his cock into for hours. 

If Zuko begged for a break, he would pay for it with a slap to his face and a cock in his mouth until he gagged. Ozai never once relented, and never once let Zuko forget what a damnable failure he is.

“This is all you’ve ever been good for,” Ozai would say every time. “And even this is barely passable. Look at you, pathetic. I said suck it harder, you worthless brat.”

And every time, Zuko kept it secret. And every time, it shattered more and more of him until Zuko was nothing left but a hollow shell of a boy dragging his feet through the years.

Until now.

\---

As for Azula, things were not so different, but not quite the same. Two years younger than her brother, she was not so far behind as one would think. Quickly she made the world know her name and her power. And quickly did she catch her father’s eye, and favor for it.

She was no older than ten when Ozai took it upon himself to mentor her one on one. What started as lessons in proper form led to more adventurous touches, searching and quiet at first, until it started a great, brilliant flame. 

She remembers it all, crisp and clear. She holds the memories dear, even now. 

The first time Ozai touched her in a way that left Azula hungry was after a particularly rigorous lesson. It was a practice circuit of the ancient Sun Warrior maneuvers which often required such precision and concentration that even Azula was rendered spent and exhausted. She hated feeling weak. She hated when her tiny body would give out on her. And so when she fell to her knees, fist clenched against the stone floor dappled with her sweat, Ozai picked her up in his arms and made it all worth the trouble. 

From there on out, being on her knees was a lot less bothersome.

Ozai spoiled her. Even before all of this, she was his favorite, and oh, how Azula relished in his praise. All the more delicious was it that he never hid his preference, always making a point to anyone - especially Zuko, that was her favorite - that she was the best. 

And she was. She was the best. She was daddy’s favorite, and she always would be. She was the best at firebending; she was the best at war tactics; she was the best at taking all three of daddy’s fingers in her little cunt as he worked Azula open from under her robes.

“So tight,” Ozai would say, laving at her neck, but never marking her despite her wishes. He was always so commanding, leading, and knowing. Like a beacon marching ever-forward to the fires of war. She wanted to fan that flame; she wanted to carry it alongside him; she wanted to be the one to ignite it. “So hot, all for daddy.”

“Yes, papa. All for--ah!--all for you.”

Her private lessons with Ozai would always be, first and foremost, training. He valued his daughter’s power and promise as much as her mouth and cunt, but his priorities lied in grooming her to a perfect Fire Nation Warrior. And so Azula worked hard, diligently, brilliantly, until the adrenaline from her seamless success brought her tumbling into her father’s kiss and stretching for his cock. 

“That’s my good little girl,” Ozai would praise, fucking his daughter from behind as she bent over a training obstacle held fast to the floor. Despite the force of his hips against her small body, it did not budge. “Keep holding that. Back straight. Just like that. It will strengthen your core, baby.”

“Yes, papa,” she would manage to gasp out, her thighs trembling to keep herself level. The sound of her father’s pelvis slapping against her ass left her full and happy, and fostered an ego that left her destroying anything in her way.

Her daddy’s cock made her the perfect weapon. 

And her daddy loved her pussy.

Ozai wouldn’t only spoil her in the eyes of the public. No, his praise was never for show. She knew he meant it, because even in secret, he would make her feel precious. Ozai would bring gifts, often, to their sessions. Hand-crafted, custom made toys of polished glass or marble made solely for her cunt alone. 

“Do you like this one?” he’d ask, a gentle smile in his voice raw with lust. He’d slowly push it in and out of her pussy, spread-legged on his lap while his broad, calloused fingers explored the budding promise of her clit. 

“Yes, daddy. Yes, I like it. But--nnh--but I want…”

“Patience, my little one.” And then he’d push it all the way in, and she’d go slack against him, content.

Sometimes he’d bring a little silver bullet that would whir and whiz and make all sorts of fun sounds as it vibrated against her body. She’d writhe and giggle in her father’s lap as he’d press it against her budding nipples, before moaning, gasping and bucking as he held it to her clit. 

The pleasure was unlike anything she ever knew could exist. At night, on the battlefield, at dinner, Azula dreamt of her father’s strong, sure hands holding open her thighs; she’d carry that lust with her throughout the day until daddy could fill her up again. He was never disappointed to find her already wet by the time she spread her legs for him.

“Your body is a prodigy as well as your mind,” Ozai would marvel. “So young, yet you take me so well, Azula. Truly, you are one of a kind. You really are my perfect child.”

But there was one thing that Ozai would never do that Azula wanted. Time and time again when they fucked countlessly in endless positions for hours upon hours - Ozai would never cum inside her.

It drove Azula mad.

She learned to know when he was close. The staccato of his thrusts, the way his fingertips would burn hotter on her body, the way his breath would catch in his throat. She’d arch her back, or ride him faster, or spread her legs wider for him every time, inviting him to fill her body with his seed.

He never did.

She was halfway through her eleventh year when she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer.

“Why won’t you cum inside me, daddy?” she asked, petulant and flushed pink with exertion as Ozai wiped his cum from her smooth little belly and chuckled, placing a kiss to her cheek. 

“Surely you must know the answer to that, my little Azula.”

Azula pouted. She knew why, in the technical sense, but there were...ways...she knew of ways, read of ways that the results could be prevented. 

Not that she wanted those, either.

Ozai continued. “But do not worry. I have plans for you.”

She peeked at her father from under her furrowed brow. “Plans?” 

Her father sat up, and looked at her seriously. When Ozai spoke, his voice was hushed, as though this were more secret than anything else they’ve done in this room. “On your thirteenth year, you will carry my next heir.”

Azula’s eyes brightened in the firelight. “Really?”

“Yes. I have thought about it long and hard. Azula, you are one of a kind. No one has ever seen anyone quite like you. I cannot allow anyone else to take you for themselves. Only my seed, and your womb, can make a legacy to rival history. I’ll let no other man take you. You are mine.”

It was as though Azula had died and gone to heaven. A smile - not a smirk, not a sneer - a smile blossomed on her face and she leaned up to embrace her father. “Oh, daddy. You really mean it?”

“I do. But Azula,” and here, Ozai grabbed her chin and forced her gaze to his, “you must tell no one of this. Not a soul. I know you like to taunt, and flaunt your talents, and your accomplishments. And you should, my perfect little girl. But this is one you must keep to us and us alone. Do you promise?”

Azula nodded, hard and fast. “I swear.”

Her face still held in the single broad hand of her father, Azula let him kiss her lips and seal the promise. 

Thirteen. Thirteen. Thirteen.

All she had to do was wait. Just another two years. She could do it. 

And then Zuko ruined _everything_ .

At eleven, Azula watched him fall by the hands of Ozai for his big, stupid, idiot mouth. And it felt so good to watch him burn. She imagined how worked up her father was from Zuko’s misdemeanor. Her pussy tightened in her seat, watching from the balcony as her father performed a flawless and beautiful maneuver that sent fire roaring through the colosseum and Zuko flying through the air. 

It was deadly. It was violent. It was beautiful.

She wanted all that energy to herself. Oh, she could only imagine the way he’d fuck her after this! So worked up, so angry, she would bear the weight of his wrath if it meant she could get dicked down like an animal bred for him to fuck. 

It was that very desire that led Azula to Ozai’s door that night on his request. She was dripping for him by the time he opened the door.

What brought her to her knees next was not her father’s cock, but the news he shared with her in the privacy of his lounge.

“Azula, this ends now.”

It was as though she’d been punched in the gut.

“What?” she asked, numb in shock. “What--wait, why, father?”

Ozai couldn’t even look at her. “I have lost faith in my children. I cannot trust them. Zuko’s defiance will be dealt with accordingly, but his outburst has cost me a great shame. As for you, Azula,” and there was some regret in his eyes as he held out his hand for Azula to take, “focus on your training. Do your best, and be the best, for me.”

Azula stood there, burning in a rage. No. No, no, no, no, NO! This could not happen. Not now. Not ever! Her fists balled at her sides. She couldn’t let this be real. She wouldn’t! Everything was perfect, and she didn’t do anything wrong! She’d been nothing but perfect for her father; to bear the brunt of Zuko’s failure would bring her to shame. Hot tears welled and threatened to fall down her cheeks - and finally they did, when she choked out her rebuttal.

“If you stop, I’ll tell.”

It was as though the very fires around them froze to ice.

Ozai looked at his daughter, stunned. “You will not.”

“I will.” She sneered as her father’s expression - a quiet fear that propelled her forward. “I will!”

“And what will you say?”

“The truth. That you’ve been fucking your eleven year old daughter’s pussy for a year and a half and were going to have me bear your next heir. What would the council think of that, daddy?”

Ozai was speechless. He stared, long and hard at his daughter, until even Azula felt worn down under his gaze. But she did not relent. 

Instead, to her surprise, it was he.

“Very well,” Ozai said, his eyes growing dark. “Come here.”

His voice was different. But Azula did as she was told, before Ozai reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair, swinging her until she was pressed against a pillar. The pain was searing, and Azula cried out. Her father’s hot breath against her ear felt chilling. 

“You want my cock so badly, you insolent little brat, then you’ll get it,” he growled, ripping off her robes with little regard to where they landed or the state he rendered them to. Shredded linen fell to the floor like discarded embers from a fire, and there against the pillar, Ozai raped his daughter’s ass.

The pain was jarring. Ozai had never been like this before. Ozai had never put his cock there before. That was dirty, and it hurt like nothing Azula had ever felt. She grit her teeth and cried out in pain as every thrust felt worse and worse.

“You wanted this,” Ozai snarled, slapping Azula’s ass hard--too hard--too hard! 

“Dad--daddy, stop, please, you’re hurting me!”

“This is what you wanted. This is what you’ll get. You disappoint me, Azula.”

Those words broke her more than anything that followed.

Ozai never fucked her pussy again. He never let her suck him off. He never fingered her. From then on, when he called Azula in for training, it was rigorous enough as a Firebender; and after, he would fuck her ass. And the worst part...the worst part of it all… he never even came on her again. 

She couldn’t even get _that_ .

Every time, he’d pull out, and jerk himself off on the floor until every drop of his precious seed was wasted on the granite. Azula, breathless and bruised, would watch as her father shook out his cock to rid himself of any precious remnants. 

“You got what you asked for,” he said every time he came. “If you want it so bad, you can lick it off the floor.”

She stared at the streaks of cum smattering the floor, hungry and desperate. If she could just scoop it up, push it into her pussy enough, maybe...just maybe…

But he never let her do such a thing. He would watch as Azula lapped at the floor for her father’s cum, just to get something, anything, from this horrible reality. The only taste of his seed she’d ever get would be the scraps served on a cold stone floor.

“That’s it. Lap it up. That’s all you’ll ever get. Be grateful you get my scraps.”

It was never the same since that day Zuko defied Ozai. Her perfect future was ruined. Her dreams of bearing her father’s child and bringing a legacy into the world was now just a shattered dream she’d live with forever.

All because of _him_ .

Zuko…truly ruined everything

* * *

The courtyard is always most beautiful in summer; heat did little to stay the vibrant flora, whose brilliant colors shone under the sun like a burning kaleidoscope. Red poppies, fire azaleas, solar lilies all lit the palace’s quiet little haven in orange and red. Amidst it, a grand reflection pool sits like an oasis, tranquil and calm. 

When he was a child, Zuko remembers throwing stones into it, watching the water’s rings ripple and fade by his mother’s side.

The water has been still, ever since.

Zuko sits at the edge of it, pale as the alabaster statue birthed from the water’s center, and can do nothing but breathe. Even that feels hard. His throat feels hot, his chest feels hot, the tears welling behind his eyes feel hot. But more than that, the cum still dribbling from his ass feels _searing_ as it traces the curve of his ass beneath his training garb. Zuko balls his fists into the fabric of his robes and lets the sob hiss through the wall of his bared teeth like steam. 

It happened again today. Not unlike two days ago, or a week ago, or a month ago, or... Zuko’s lost count at this point, over the years. He couldn’t remember how many times if he tried; it all blurred together and left his younger years enshrouded in a haze. All he knows now is that his fifteenth year crests on the horizon, and despite horror and devastation, life goes on. 

And his father has deemed his to be a living hell. 

Today he has decided he can take it any longer. These horrible acts that Zuko has kept secret since he was eleven haunted his every thought, his every move. It ate at him from the inside out, until he was a mess of self-loathing and confusion. It was bad enough what Ozai groomed him into willingly - a though that haunts Zuko every day - but ever since his defiance nearly two years ago, his days were filled with shame, and his nights were filled with abuse.

He has to tell _someone_. He just doesn’t know who. Zuko trembles as he stares down into the reflection pool, cursing the day he was born, and missing his mother more than air. There’s no one left for Zuko to confide in.

Except--no…

Well…

Zuko’s head lifts when he hears footsteps in the distance. Through the maze of fire lilies, Azula strides towards him, alone and with mischief in her eyes. 

This isn’t new. Azula finding Zuko to terrorize barely fazes him now. Especially in comparison to the horrors he’s endured. At this point, she’s just a stubborn wasp through the garden.

But Zuko realizes she may be his only hope.

“What’re you doing?” Azula sneers at him. “Crying into the water again? I heard your training was a real flop today. When are you gonna just give up and run away to the Earth Kingdom? Maybe if you beg real nice they’ll just bury you in a hole.”

They’re all just words at this point. Zuko stares up at his sister from his seat in the grass, and does not play her game.

“Azula,” he says instead, his voice soft, his eyes sincere, “I need to talk to you.”

Azula scoffs. But her surprise is palpable, a vague interest there within it. “Huh? Me? About what?”

“I can’t say it here. But I really, really need to talk to you.” Zuko rises from the grass and looks down at his sister. Maybe, just maybe, he could trust her with this. In a way, he thinks the bout of honesty out of the blue could be used to his advantage. It’s so unexpected, Azula would have to listen. 

Maybe--Gods, maybe it could even make them closer. Maybe she could help. 

Maybe--something. Just something. He has to tell someone. And so he chooses Azula, like a moth to flame. 

Warily, Azula eyes her older brother with a quirked brow. “This oughta be good. Okay. Where?”

“My room. Follow me.”

It’s the one place he knows he can be alone.

Together, they go, Ozai’s cum still buried in his ass, leaking down his thighs, a constant reminder of his shame.

\--

Azula can’t help her piqued curiosity. She pads behind her older brother like a curious little cat. What could it be this time? Is he gonna ask her to quit her meanie weanie little namecalling? Or to stop trying to set him up with her loser friend? Or to help him train on his pathetic, puny firebending?

No… none of those would warrant him taking her to his room. She hasn’t even seen his room in ages. They haven’t had a private conversation with each other since before mom disappeared. 

So what can it be?

Azula is dying to know.

When Zuko shuts the door behind them, he locks it. And then, he’s quiet for a long time. Azula lets him stew, instead poking around his room in overbearing curiosity. Nothing has really changed since the last time she was here. Trinkets here and there from Iroh’s travels; a wooden and mother-of-pearl comb next to a modest mirror; oils and waxes next to the mirror, to which Azula plucks into her hands to inspect.

It’s all for hair.

“You have more hair products than a woman, Zuko,” she sneers. Azula takes a sniff from one of the oil vials. It smells like honeyed lilac and amber. What kind of guy would wear this?

But that’s right--she remembers now. Zuko takes great care and pride in his hair. She admits, it is always perfect; shiny, not a strand out of place, and pulled _tight tight tight_ , so high that she can picture him in the mornings, bent over, head down, combing it up to ensnare in a ponytail sitting right at the top of his head. 

She snorts.

“If you spent half the time training that you do on your hair, you might be half as good as me in a decade,” she says, placing it back down. Zuko still doesn’t respond, and Azula takes advantage of the freedom she has to snoop. On Zuko’s bedside table sits the dagger given to him by Iroh after the defeat of Ba Sing Se, years ago. She remembers it clearly; she got a damn doll from the old coot. Picking it up, Azula inspects the inscription.

Finally, Zuko speaks.

“What I’m about to tell you--Azula, you can’t tell anyone.”

Oh. A real secret, huh? Azula turns to her brother. He’s seated at the end of the bed, facing the door, his back to her. She cocks her head to one side. What on earth would he possibly have to say that is so secret? Is he running away? Did he kill someone? 

Oh, Azula is dying to know! 

She plays it sweet. It would do her no good to scare him off. 

“I won’t,” she echoes, the words flat even on her tongue. Hm. Not her best work. She changes her octave. “I promise, Zuko.”

And those are the words that finally make Zuko turn to her, and when he does, she sees Zuko’s eyes, his cheeks, are wet. He’s _crying_.

Oh, this ought to be delicious.

She falls into her role and glides over to him, seating herself on the side of the bed. Closer, but not _close_. Azula’s brows furrow in the best charade of concern she can muster. He always cried so damn easy. It’s probably nothing. “What is it, Zuko?”

It takes him a while to find his words. He looks away again, and she sees the tremble in his shoulders when he sighs. When he speaks, his voice is tight like a bowstring pulled to its limit. 

“Father has done horrible things, Azula. Horrible, horrible things. To me. To my--my… my body. For years. _For years_. Since I was--I don’t know. Eleven? I --” and here, Zuko’s head falls into his hands, leaving Azula silent.

No. Wait--no way. No way? _No_. That can’t be it. 

It’s gotta be something else. Whipping. Harsh training. Anything but what she’s thinking.

She wants to hear him say it.

“What do you mean?” 

Her question is met with a choked sob. “He rapes me, Azula. Father rapes me. Has raped me since I was eleven. Will keep raping me until --I don’t know. Until I’m finally worthy. I--”

Whatever else Zuko babbles on about, Azula doesn’t hear him. All she hears is ringing. A single, even shrill through her mind as she stares blankly at Zuko.

No.

No way. No fucking way. No fucking way did Zuko get Ozai’s cock before she did. No fucking way has Ozai been sharing his cock with Zuko this entire time. This has to be a joke. He must know about them. He must have found out, and is using this _lie_ as bait to confess.

Fat chance.

“Prove it.”

Her voice has lost all compassion she tried to muster earlier. The command is simple, and her body is taut. Zuko picks his head up from his hands, and when he stares at her, he’s bewildered.

“What…?” he asks. Azula stands, quick as a firecracker, and rounds on her brother at the end of the bed. Without thinking, she unsheaths the dagger, and points it at his face. She tries to hold it steady, but shudders with rage despite herself. 

“Prove it. I don’t believe you.”

Zuko looks past the dagger at her, his eyes tired and begging. Azula feels her jaw tremble. “ _Prove it!_ ” she yells.

“Fine,” he says tightly. When he stands, Azula takes a step back. But rather than round on her, Zuko turns his back to her and starts to disrobe.

“What are you doing?” 

“Proving it,” Zuko responds, a strange distance to his voice.

Azula watches the crimson fall from her brother’s shoulders, to the floor, pooling around him like blood. Then comes his hand as his sash, and with a quick motion, he undoes the marigold cotton until the second half of it joins the first on the floor, and he’s completely naked. Zuko bends over on the bed, baring his ass to her in shame.

There’s no mistaking it. The marks across his ass cheeks, they match the same Ozai gives her. And between them, without a shred of denial, is the one thing Azula never wanted to ever see.

Ozai’s leftover cum slicks her brother’s asshole, coats messily down his thighs, sticking both cheeks together in a viscous web. There’s so--there’s so _much of it_ , and when Zuko shifts, even more oozes out.

Azula goes numb. She can’t take her eyes off it. It’s so thick and creamy, and it must be fresh.

This can’t be.

“Do you see?” Zuko asks quietly. “This is--this is what he does to me. What he’s done for years.”

But Azula only hears that ringing in her ears again. Louder than before, piercing, and filling her with a rage. She can’t stop staring at the one thing she’s always wanted, buried deep in her worthless brother’s ass. 

For years. 

For years, while she spent her time begging for it, dreaming of it, Ozai had been using Zuko like this too?

Her fist ensnares the dagger tightly in her grip. And then, after a single, deep breath, she’s calm.

“That’s horrible, Zuko,” she says, though her voice flatlines again, stale with the trite effort of pity. “Let me help you.”

“Please,” Zuko says, and he’s still a pathetic display on his bed, ass baring his shame towards his sister. Another dollop of cum drips out as a sob wracks Zuko’s body, and that’s the last straw.

Azula swiftly sheaths the dagger and spins it until she’s holding the blade, and the pommel is pressed against Zuko’s ass. 

“Azu--what are you--!” He jumps, but Azula braces her palm on his lower back, meeting his eyes.

“Let me help you get it out, brother. We need to get it out.”

And without further word, she pushes the pommel completely inside. Zuko’s body shudders like thunder to his spine. “Azula, stop,” he cries. His voice shakes, and he tries to jerk away, but her words keep him in place.

“If you move, I’ll tell.”

Zuko freezes. “What?”

“If you move, I’ll tell. I’ll tell everyone that you’ve been taking father’s cock for years while his wife slept in the same bed; while his wife disappeared completely; while his _daughter_ had no _idea_.” She punctuates the words with thrusts of the dagger until the pommel is buried to the hilt and cum oozes around the polished mahogany. It makes a debauched mess and infuriates Azula. All of this should be hers. But it’s Zuko’s.

“Please don’t,” Zuko begs as Azula fucks into his ass. It’s infuriating. The more she pushes it in, the more cum oozes out. Her lip curls in disgust. He’s been hoarding this from her for _years_.

“How much of it is in here?” she asks. “You really must love taking his loads.”

“I don’t,” Zuko cries out. “I don’t. I hate it. I hate every minute of it!”

His confession only fills her with a cold rage. He must be mocking her. How dare he? How dare he make a mockery of her? 

“Does he fuck into you like this? Into your ass until he--he--” she can barely say it even though her hands are slick with her father’s cum gushing from Zuko’s ass, “until he gives you everything you should be grateful for?”

“Azula--dammit--Azula, I...I knew I shouldn’t have told you!”

Zuko’s body is tight against the bed and he tries to scramble away, but with her other hand Azula grabs his ponytail and holds him taut until his back arches into her thrusts. “If you move, I’ll tell. I’ll run out of here, and I’ll tell everyone until you’re burned at the stake.”

“Az’la---stop---” Zuko slurs through grit teeth. His voice is thick with the force of his sobs. But it’s not enough for her. She wants more. Azula yanks the pristine hair in her hands as though she were riding an unruly steed, until Zuko’s throat is bared to the ceiling. 

“You don’t want me to stop. You’ve been taking dad’s cock since I was _nine_ ,” she hisses, jealousy lighting a fire in her she does not know how to control. _He_ had Ozai first. _He_ had Ozai in ways Azula never did. Never could. He _still_ has Ozai in ways Azula can’t. Azula doesn’t know how long she fucks Zuko’s ass with the dagger, but she could do it for ages and not be satisfied. 

Azula doesn’t realize she is crying until her salty tears hit her own lips. No matter how hard she thrusts in the dagger, no matter how much Zuko begs her to stop, it’s not enough to satisfy her. Nothing ever will be. She yanks his hair again for good measure.

“I want to destroy you, Zuko,” she confesses, her voice dark. 

“Azula--why? Why are you doing this?”

“Because, Zuko,” Swiftly, before Zuko can move, she yanks the dagger from his ass, holds the slicked pommel in her hand, and unsheathes it. In one swift motion, she cuts his hair from the topknot, and he falls face-first to the bed like a bird shot from the sky to the snow. 

“Because you ruin everything.”

Zuko’s hand flies to his hair, grasping at nothing. He rises, as though he’s been hit by a bolt of lightning, to turn and stare at his sister. 

It is the first drop of satisfaction Azula feels to see the horror on his face. But it does little to quell her anger. 

She knows something that might.

In the blink of an eye, she burns the ponytail in her hand to ashes before them both; as simple as blinking, as natural as breathing. An afterthought, falling from her grip like sand in an hourglass, where Zuko’s half is all used up.

“Oops. Hand slipped.”

Now it’s Azula’s turn for time to move in her favor.

“You want to fix it?” she asks, throwing the ashes of his hair over his pale body, over the pale sheets. She holds the dagger slick with her father’s cum, and brings it to her mouth to lick. “You never will. Not as long as you live. All you’re good for, Zuko...all you’ve ever been good for...is losing."

He will lose to her. She will make sure of it. She will make it her life goal, starting now.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This was a custom piece done for someone who contacted me on my [carrd](https://nethicitewrites.carrd.co/) . If you'd like me to create custom NSFW fiction for you, I am fandom and OC friendly. You can get in touch at the carrd. I take limited assignments per month!


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